


Lights Will Guide You Home

by Mamogirl



Category: Backstreet Boys
Genre: AU, Angst, Drama, EmpathBrian, Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, angelBrian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 08:58:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7928722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mamogirl/pseuds/Mamogirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had made it.<br/>He had made it back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lights Will Guide You Home

Lights Will Guide You Home

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He had to get there.

He had to go home.

Dusk was starting to give the stage to the night, painting the sky with a multitude of different shades of blue that went from the lightest, almost a mixture with violet and purple, to the darkest tone, the one that resembled the features of black; a chilly breeze have started to rise from somewhere behind the trees and those far away hills that wanted to look like high mountains and, yet, the air was still humid and full of the hot and warmth that had catalyzed the attention for all day long; people were walking by, couples strolled with arms latched around their shoulders and whispering softly so not to be heard, cars rolled on the road as if they didn’t want to go home but drive and drive, run away until they find eternity; almost all the houses had their lights up, windows opened and various and so different aromas of cooking were drifting away in the air, trying to meet and know the one of the flowers growing in those small flowerbeds at the corners of the street; laughter and loud voices could be heard even from the outside, mixed with notes of famous pop songs or lines from a well-known movie.

In different circumstances, he wouldn’t had just walked away with all his senses blocked, slightly cursing his power but, at the same time, blessing it because it gave him the opportunity to feel, really feel, all the life springing and living all around him. In different circumstances, he would have found a little spot where to sit and would had just close his eyes, letting his senses building all those images of ordinary and normal life, slipping inside and mingling in only when he would see the cold and dull colors of sadness, melancholy and despair sparkling as if they were silent children that no one had ever paid attention to them: he couldn’t help himself, it was part of his inheritance and instinct trying to soothe down sadness and giving someone a few minutes of quiet and piece. A smile, when it would have been possible. Sometimes, in those different circumstances, he wouldn’t have been alone but there would have been his partner, hands clasped together so he could show him what he was seeing and trying to teach him about all the differences between emotions and feelings.

But that wasn’t one of those circumstances, his powers were safely closed off and merged into the more important matter of guiding him home. He couldn’t waste any precious energy for he hadn’t left much: it was quite a miracle that he was able to walk, to keep going as if he hadn’t spent the last days -  or had it been more? – abducted and victim of... A step faltered but he quickly found his balance and kept walking, ignoring those images that wanted to come back and haunt him. Ignoring the confused and worried looks that he was receiving from the people that were on the sidewalk beside him. Muffled voice started to tickle his hearing, softened question of help and it took him some seconds before he could realized that they weren’t asking him for help but it was the opposite; he just shook his head and just kept walking.

He couldn’t stop. He had to go back home. He had to go back to _him_.

His body was bruised, black and blue spots were visible through the shreds of clothes left to cover his skin. His body was bloodied, he could still feel those red rivulets making their way through his back, there where lay the centre of the pain. Burning, hot flames of pain that set fire to every and each nerves in his body, never stopping reminding him what he had been through. Or what has been done to him and to those wings that had always been his pride.

No, he had to keep walking. No, he couldn’t think of what had happened. Or how tired and exhausted he felt. In the back of his mind there was an allusive voice, like the call of a siren, that wanted him to stop and rest for a couple of minutes: that was the part of his mind that was already ready to give up the fight, the part that wanted to hide in darkness and numb the pain until nothing and no one could ever touch him ever again.

He kept walking, ignoring that voice and concentrating all of his energies on that bond, that special bond, that was leading him through darkness and back home. He could feel it, beating strongly within his soul. He could see it, as if it was a bright light that kept shining the path that he needed to walk. His lighthouse, his fixed point that couldn’t be erased or shattered by violence or abuse. He held on that feeling, he tightened his hand’s grip around it until he could feel it burning a part that shouldn’t even exist. There was desperation, coming from the other side. There was desperation, agony, pain and, in the middle of those feelings, an unshakeable faith that kept shining even when most of people would have given up and believed the worst. Relief swept through this battered soul, rewarded by another wave of love that managed to fuel his energies so that he could kept walking: somehow, someway, he had managed to send that important message, although he didn’t know if it had been received or no. He was so tired and weak, his powers all focused on that sense that was trying and pushing him towards home and, yet, all he could think of was to reassure his other half. So much pain and heartbreak was coming through their bond, images and echoes of days and nights, long and endless hours when not knowing had been worse that knowing what was happening to him: his instincts wanted to kick in, they wanted to reach out and erase those dark shadows because that was what his duty had always been. And, for a moment, his control slipped a little and followed what his heart wanted to do, going after those heartbreaking feeling and trying to take them away. Immediately he knew it had been a mistake because, not being strong enough to keep up his defenses against the millions, infinite and endless reactions of the world around him: like bullets, those balls of energies, colors and emotions hit him straight in the chest, reducing him on his knees as breath and oxygen were taken away from his lungs; his hands went to his head, trying to block all those stimulus and voices that didn’t all belong to the only one he wanted to hear: couples were fighting, other were passionately making up after a fight; a baby was crying, left alone in a house where all you could sense was hate and violence while, in another house, someone was trying to defend herself from the last round of vicious words from someone she thought was her friend. Negative thoughts, negative emotions were always the loudest because they wanted to be heard; they were like lost souls in search of someone who could hear their cries and their screaming; they were beast that wanted to increase their powers and were always in the mood for a fight. And then, in the middle of almost losing himself once again, he heard the voice he was searching: it was hoarse, tears and pain were dripping from every words and there was this longing, this agony of being able to sense something but not having the ability to do something with it. Useless, how many times he had to soothe away that feeling?

“ _I’m coming home.”_

More questions exploded in his mind but he didn’t wait to listen to them. Using his last energies left, he rebuild his walls and returned to focus to that voice was calling him. Step after step, breath after breath and ignoring the pains and the tremors that now were becoming stronger and stronger. He kept walking, telling himself what he was going to do as soon as he would be home and picturing his partner’s face as soon as he would see him.

Would he want him again? Would he love him still, even with those broken wings?

Doubt almost stopped him but the love he was feeling was too much stronger to let him give in and believe those lies. And so he kept walking, as the moonlight started to shine down on the path he was walking on, as if it wanted to help that broken and beaten angel. He kept walking, holding on that bond even if it was growing weaker, just like his reserve and energies.

He kept walking and then, finally, he knew he had made it.

He could only open one eye, the other was so swollen that it was impossible to force it to move, but it was enough to know that he had made it. He was back home, that building that had been what had forced him to push himself and his body over any limit. Suddenly, voices become louder and real, swimming around him with streams of questions and blessing for that nightmare had finally found its ending. Suddenly arms, _his_ arms, were wrapped around his body and he was being picked up as if he was the lightest of the weight; lips found their way on his forehead, a confused mass of hair and skin wet and dirtied by sweat and blood, and left a trail of frantic and reassuring kisses.

“You’re back. You’re safe. You’re back.”

He could let go, finally. He could give into that voice that urged him to break down and let someone else protect and take care of him. He could give in and finally be enfolded by the darkness and numbness, that magical place where nothing could reach him and he wouldn’t feel pushed into million directions by endless emotions. He could let go but, before that, he looked around and found that face he had so longed to see, that face that had basically kept him alive when he thought that everything had been lost and the pain had been too much to endure.

Blonde hair all trussed up, bloodshot and tired eyes as if he hadn’t slept in ages. But, between the tears and the lines of worry, Nick’s smile was the most beautiful sight Brian had ever seen.

“I’m home.” He barely managed to say, his lips dried, full of bite marks and chopped up.

“Yes. – Nick replied in a sob, hiding his face between Brian’s curls and tightening up his embrace around the small and broken figure lying in his arms. – You’re home.”

Only then Brian could finally let go and be enfolded by darkness and numbness.

He had made it.

He had made it back home.

**Author's Note:**

> So... I was going through all my Word documents and I found this piece that could work as a stand alone story. In the beginning it was supposed to be the prequel of "Somewhere I Belong" but then I changed a little detail and this couldn't work anymore.   
> Hope you all liked it. =)   
> This fandom needs more Brian angst and hurt/comfort. lol


End file.
